


Biscuits for a Bad Day

by bratfromstrat



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, One Shot, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratfromstrat/pseuds/bratfromstrat
Summary: Robin consoles Cormoran, who has had a very bad day(TV Cormoran / TV Robin)





	Biscuits for a Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so when I wrote this one I had the TV version of Cormoran in mind, mostly because 1) book Cormoran is certainly not messy and 2) book Cormoran would quite literally crush Robin

Robin was lying on her stomach, clicking idly through several open tabs on her sleek silver computer, trying to strategically eat her chocolate digestive in a way that minimised the amount of crumbs trickling onto the duvet. It was a fairly pointless exercise, all this brushing and head-tilting and cupping her hand under her mouth; living with Cormoran meant an inevitable accumulation of crumbs and coffee rings over every surface. But she would be damned if she lowered herself to his appalling table manners.  
Glancing at the clock at the bottom of her screen, Robin noticed that Cormoran was late. This was hardly a rare occurrence. Both of them understood what little control the other had over the length of their working days, and neither of them begrudged the other anything.  
All the same, she thought, munching her biscuit, she really would like him to come home sooner rather than later. They had barely seen each other in ten days, forced to work over-time and cover more cases than usual thanks to a burst pipe they could barely afford to have fixed. The only reason Robin was lying there now, at home, on their bed, was a last-minute cancellation for an interview she had set up a week ago.  
Cormoran had said he would be out until at least 7, tailing a man whose mother suspected him of stealing her benefits and gambling them away. It was now almost eight thirty.  
Dusting her fingers off, she picked her phone up an gave Cormoran a fairly unenthusiastic ring. He rarely picked his phone up when he was tailing someone, and right enough it went to voicemail again now.  
With a sigh, Robin accepted that she probably wouldn't see much of her partner for a good while longer, and turned her focus back to the laptop and a Jamie Fiscott's Facebook page.  
She was a few pages into Fiscott's photo gallery, when, unexpectedly, she heard the door open. Cormoran's steps were ever so slightly uneven as he made his way into their bedroom, betraying how much time he had spent on his feet that day.  
"Evening," Robin said on a smile, then laughed a little as she felt Cormoran flip her gently onto her back and flop on top of her.  
Robin's air was puffed out between her smiling lips as Cormoran's very weary head came to rest totally motionlessly on her chest, hair still damp from the light London drizzle.  
He hadn't even taken his coat off, and although he was making no sound, and it was hard to see any of his face from her squashed and limited vantage point, his entire body language seemed to embody an exhausted, pained groan.  
"Can we have sex, please?" he moaned, pitifully, and Robin laughed again.  
"That's the least romantic thing I've ever experienced. And I've been stabbed."  
Cormoran really did groan now.  
"Bad day?" Robin asked, absently brushing her fingers through his damp hair. As much as she didn't like to see Cormoran so exhausted, she relished finally being close to him and conscious at the same time again.  
"Worst," he grunted.  
"How's your leg?" she asked.  
"Still not grown back."  
"Ah well, that is a bad day then."  
He didn't respond directly, breathing deeply and evenly as if he were not planning to move until the next day.  
"Come on," Robin said after briefly deliberating whether or not she should allow this, gently but brisk enough to get him moving, "dinner."  
Cormoran moaned.  
"You need some food in you," Robin told him, shoving in vain at his solid bulk. "And we need to hang your coat on a radiator."  
Almost excruciatingly unwillingly, Cormmoran dragged himself upright, allowing Robin to breathe comfortably again, and get a look at his face. She was so used to seeing his rough, prematurely-lined face in some state of injury she almost didn't notice the wound at first.  
She stood up and reached out gently for his bleeding cheek, frowning deeply.  
"What happened?"  
"Fell over. Right behind the target too."  
"Oh." Robin pulled a face.  
"Yeah. He helped me up."  
"Bugger."  
"And got me a chair to lean on because he noticed my leg."  
There was no way Cormoran could follow that particular target again. And Robin would stick out like a sore thumb at any of the gentleman's casinos he seemed to frequent.  
"Well worse things have happened," she tried to smile.  
Cormoran raised his exhausted eyebrows.  
"Probably to you, earlier today," she guessed correctly, smiling pityingly. "Come on. Some food and a bit of Germaline for the cut."  
"I stand by my first suggestion," Cormoran told her, allowing her to pull him to the kitchen gently, her bare feet padding lightly on the floor. "But I reckon I could settle for some digestives."  
Turning to remove his heavy overcoat and lay it over a radiator, he didn't see Robin glance guiltily at the empty packet by the side of their bed.   
"Maybe we could revisit the sex possibility," Robin suggested, leaning casually against the wall, "That or Bourbons."


End file.
